Dies Mali
by myself
Summary: It was dark. But it was always dark. These premonitions did not scare her anymore, just horrified her. Sometimes, they were so intense she woke screaming. But from her hidden sanctuary, no one would ever hear her, or discover her secret. Until an eventful
1. Two days in February

Dies Mali  
  
Two days in February  
  
It was a dark and stormy night, the kind of night that makes the lonely feel more alone, and the cold feel even colder. And for someone who felt both lonely and cold, the dismal yet harsh weather did nothing to amend Severus Snape's solemn mood.  
  
He leaned in, lowering his face to fall into the support of his hands, but flinched back almost immediately from his cold skin. He took another sip of coffee, savouring the warmth that then subsequently flooded his body.  
  
After reflection, Severus realised the coffee did nothing but warm his body for only a few meagre minutes, and so, returned to his invisibility potion, hoping the hot stove would heal his body of the numbness.  
  
Fortunately the burly flames soon warmed his body. Although Severus could still feel what felt like a hole somewhere around the area of his heart, he knew nothing as trivial as warmth could cure that.  
  
Upon inspecting his potion, Severus cursed under his breath as he realised he should have added the skin of a Boomslang a good fifteen minutes ago, but had been too preoccupied with marking to remember. He whipped out his wand and distinguished the fire. He reached down ready to depose of the useless potion, but stopped in mid-motion; knowing that the cauldron would be scalding hot, and instead withdrew his wand once again and cast an Evaporation charm. Then he quickly captured the gas in a small container, before deposing of it.  
  
He relit the fire beneath the now empty cauldron, and began work on re- preparing the ingredients. Fatigue catching up on Severus, he nearly sliced off the end of his finger whilst shredding the skin of a Boomslang. Glancing down at his watch he sighed in annoyance, as it simply read 'You should have been in bed hours ago!' He didn't need a watch to tell him that. He looked behind him and checked the muggle clock, which currently read 2:43AM. Sleep would have to wait if he wanted this potion complete by next week, he would have to work on it now.  
  
Taking a few swift strides over to his desk to retrieve his coffee, he then noticed the homework he had yet to finish marking. Severus sighed again, this time, with the uncommon feeling that he was beginning to bite off more than he could chew.  
  
Upon taking in account the name of the pupil of whose homework that lay atop the pile, he plucked his quill from its holder, scratched in a big bold F at the end of The-Who-Who-Should-Have-Died's homework, and then stalked back over to his demanding potion.  
  
*  
  
It was dark. She couldn't see and she was shaking.  
  
There was a faint tapping in the background that was beginning to sound like the tick of a clock.  
  
Due to the darkness, she could not locate the sound of the clock with her eyes, and found it impossible to detect the source with her ears. There were too many other noises. Pounding and yelling and screeching and screaming to soft whispers that soaked the air.  
  
Time felt irrelevant here. Everything seemed to be moving at alternative speeds. Suddenly speeding things up, and then abruptly changing and slowing everything to almost a complete stop. She could feel the ground moving beneath her, as if it was also following the rules of time. She couldn't see anything moving, but she was sure if she could it would only be a mass of blurry colours.  
  
She slid a tentative step forward and stretched her hands out, letting them fumble about in the air for a while. When she was certain that no solid objects were close by she stood dead still. She closed her eyes, concentrating all her energy on her hearing, trying to pick out one of the numerous noises.  
  
A slow, raspy, steady creaking sound distracted her from the other deafening rackets.  
  
Scrunching up her eyes she attempted to ignore all other sounds except for the creaking, aiming to decipher whereabouts it was filtering from.  
  
Without warning, the floor accelerated beneath her and she fell backwards.  
  
When she positive that the floor had seized to complete halt, she forced her eyes open and gasped.  
  
The room, or whatever she had originally been in, was no longer dark, but filled with a few dreary colours, such as browns and greys and blacks. It appeared to be someone's lounge. To her right she could see what would have been a window, swathed by thick, creamy curtains, which were blocking out all light. Although a small lamp, situated beside a musty sofa, was emitting a soft yellow glow.  
  
Propping herself up on her elbows she looked this time to her left, to the source of the creaking sound. Her eyes went wide;, she wanted to scream but nothing seemed to be coming out of her mouth.  
  
A large wooden rocking chair was creating the creaking. It was must have been charmed to rock robotically, because the position of the person in the chair itself ensured her that they certainly weren't rocking it themselves. She wanted to be sick.  
  
It wasn't precisely the position of the figure, more the appearance that disturbed her.  
  
The body was stiff, and very, very pale. Its hands appeared to be in mid- motion; she assumed they had been reaching for their wand. Their were legs positioned as normal, but judging from the wheelchair beside her, it seemed that they had not had much choice in that matter.  
  
Their face was gaunt and pallid, their eyes were wide and white, their icy blue lips in the shape of a scream. Freckles would have over flowed their face, had streams upon streams of dried blood not covered the most part it. As her eyes followed the trails upwards towards the top of their head, she found the source.  
  
A small, but thick bladed silver dagger had been penetrated into the centre of the cranium. Small green emeralds decorated the handle; the dagger itself was half covered in dark blood. Some, having somehow made its way high up the dagger, and the bottom half embedded in the crusty, crimson dried liquid. The auburn hair was hardly noticeable underneath the vast blood nest that the dagger had created. Still, beneath all the blood, the face was still recognizable. It wasn't easy to forget someone like Ron Weasley.  
  
Unexpectedly, the floor lurched, and she was once again plunged into darkness.  
  
*  
  
One long, blood hurtling scream escaped Hermione Grangers mouth. But from somewhere in the deep depths of Hogwarts, nobody was around to hear her.  
  
She lurched upwards into a sitting position, body trembling. Hauling herself up onto the closest chair, she gulped down the glass of water she had prepared beforehand.  
  
She ought to go back to Gryffindor tower soon, but decided to wait for her legs to stop shaking, otherwise she wouldn't even make it out of the classroom without collapsing.  
  
It was hard, keeping up this façade. Hermione knew she couldn't go on like this forever. Soon, someone would notice she never slept in her bed. But waited for the others to fall asleep, then snuck off to a derelict classroom, then lay, in waiting for the nightmares to begin. No, not nightmares, premonitions. At first they emerged as nightmares, but after fourth year.She had dreamt of Cedric's death earlier on in the year, but to discover that her nightmare had become a reality.  
  
Sometimes, she could hear the people dying, but would not get a picture until the ending scene, but she would know they were muggles. It was funny really, she spent half her life at Hogwarts attempting to demonstrate that people like Malfoy were wrong, that muggles were just the same, just as good as Witches and Wizards. Wizards were smarter, more vigilant; they knew to expect the worse. But muggles, they were naïve and stupid, too wrapped up in their own firm beliefs to recognize what was really going on around them. All of her picture-less visions resulted in muggle deaths, each time she would hold in a breath with the fear that it might be her own parents. Finally at the end, when an image came into view, she would always feel relief to some extent.  
  
But now, recently, everyone around her was dying in her dreams. She couldn't look at the people the same. Last week it was Lavender's, that wasn't too bad, nasty, but not disturbing, not as bad as.tonight. But that was all the more reason to stay away from the common room; she couldn't look Lavender in the eye, not without some sort of guilt tying up in her stomach. If she wanted, she could speak to someone, someone who could help her. Then she could help everyone, prevent all their deaths and.  
  
Even in her head it sounded stupid. Who would listen? And how could they help. She doubted there was a potion that could cure this. Everything was getting to be too much, too fast.  
  
Slowly but steadily she hauled herself up to standing position, and gradually made her way back to Gryffindor tower before dawn could arise, and her absence noticed.  
  
*  
  
"Hermione! If you're not down here in one minute we're leaving without you. My stomach's practically digesting itself!"  
  
"Ron, even if your stomach was digesting itself, which I assure you it isn't, you wouldn't be in any immediate danger. With the amount you eat, it could go on for months" Hermione retorted, descending the circular stairs from the girls dormitories.  
  
"Very witty. Now can we please leave? I swear you take longer each day to get ready. I'm already having to stick with one helping of breakfast, I don't have time for any more!"  
  
Harry snorted, and heaved himself out of the plush armchair to join his two friends.  
  
"You could have already gone down for breakfast, Ron; Harry and I have potions first thing and need to collect a potion from Madam Promfrey before class, so I doubt we'll have time"  
  
Ron gave a cry of exasperation, "And you couldn't have told me this earlier because.?"  
  
"You didn't as," she simply replied.  
  
Ron pulled a face and headed off to breakfast alone.  
  
"You ready then?" Harry asked once Ron had left the room.  
  
"Yes," she paused for a moment, "am I taking longer?" She enquired finally.  
  
"Longer?" Harry questioned, confused.  
  
"To get ready in the morning," Hermione explained.  
  
"Oh, never really thought about it really. I suppose."  
  
"Oh. Sorry"  
  
Harry chuckled. "I think Ron's the one you ought to be saying it to, I think he suffers the most."  
  
Hermione smirked, "Me too"  
  
Harry motioned towards the common room exit, "Shall we?"  
  
Hermione nodded a silent reply and they both headed off towards the hospital wing.  
  
*  
  
"Now, are all your potions light blue?" Snape barked impatiently.  
  
Murmurs of "yes's" and nods came from the class.  
  
"As the remaining pair comes up to hand in the rest of your completed potion, you will also collect a Wake-Up potion that I assume you all accumulated this morning, in addition please try to avoid stepping on the sleeping" and as the class remained still and silent, he added, "Well hurry up."  
  
There was a rush of feet and scrapes of chairs as half the class hurried up to the front desk to retrieve an antidote. They had been working in pairs on the Dreamless Sleep potion; consequently, half the class was now in a deep slumber. All except Hermione Granger, whose partner, Pansy Parkinson, hadn't made the potion quite strong enough.  
  
*  
  
It was dark. It was always dark. But it didn't stay dark this time. Suddenly, blurs of vibrant colours splurged her vision. Also, everything was silent. Except for that ticking sound again. Although now, listening harder, it wasn't as sharp as a tick. In fact, it wasn't sharp at all, it was soft. Like a soft padding, or thumping. She couldn't locate an image yet, but her nose was beginning to detect smells. There was a very prominent smell of moss, grass and dew about the air.  
  
The soft padding was increasing in texture. Each single noise was now syncopated with another. It wasn't faster, there was just more of.of whatever was creating the sound.  
  
A loud, rough bark filled the air, and then a mirthless, hollow laugh.  
  
Gradually the blurring faded out, and soon one single picture rapidly formed all around her.  
  
Lucius Malfoy stood large, his aura glowing with power, satisfaction, and pleasure. At his feet one large, shaggy dog stood in attack position. Sirius.  
  
A horrible, gut wrenching uneasy knot formed in the bottom of her stomach as she now saw what had been creating the soft padding.  
  
Hundreds upon hundreds of grey paws padding the wet grass, which could only belong to hundreds of werewolves. Each one was bearing a black expression, as it paced monotonously towards Malfoy.  
  
A quick wave of Malfoys wand and they all came to an abrupt halt, except for one. Which trudged forwards still, further towards Malfoy and Sirius, slowing, and then stopping merely a few metres from them.  
  
She closed her eyes just for a moment, and concentrated on just breathing. Knowing only too well who the lone werewolf would be. And she didn't need to hear Malfoy whisper in his most satisfied voice, "Attack", to know what would shortly unfold.  
  
Sirius leapt forwards, launching at the werewolf, giving it no time to react in any way. He sank his sharp teeth deep into its neck, and with a rip, which made Hermione promptly turn around and violently throw up; the dog had torn the werewolf's head apart from its body.  
  
The last things she heard beneath her heart wracked sobs, were Malfoy uttering "Finite Incanatem", a faint pop, and voice that could only belong to Sirius chock out the word "Remus", before releasing the bile brought up in his throat, and say numbly "Avada Kedavra".  
  
Then all was quiet.  
  
*  
  
Hermione's eyes flew wide and open. Her breathing heavy and jagged. She had to keep gasping in huge gulps of air, but her throat was parched and so the air made it sore.  
  
She couldn't remember where she was, but before any thoughts could be considered she found a glass being pushed harshly into her hand. She sat up immediately and hastily drank the contents.  
  
It was only then that she began to take her surroundings. The first thing she noticed were the dreary, stonewalls, and then memories started flooding back. Potions. Hermione pushed her eyes shut and fell back to laying position. She had been in potions. Snape had partnered her up with that snotty bitch Pansy Parkinson. She was smart though. Somewhere along the line Pansy had managed to con her into testing the Dreamless Sleep potion they had been making. but that didn't make sense.her dream was definitely.dream-full.  
  
"Miss Granger?" Came a voice from somewhere in the room.  
  
She let her eyes flutter open and slowly got to her feet. She suddenly became aware of how empty the classroom was. Beside herself, only Snape was present.  
  
"Where is everyone?"  
  
"They've gone Miss Granger. The bell for break went 20 minutes ago. You, on the other hand, will not be attending break. You will be spending the next hour and a half attempting re-make the Dreamless sleep potion, seeing as you were obviously incapable of making a successful one earlier." Snape answered, curling his lip slightly.  
  
"What?" She couldn't help but blurt out. "Sorry Sir, but why do I have to stay and do it? What about Pansy?"  
  
"Miss Parkinson, I am certain, is capable of what you are not."  
  
"I beg your pardon Sir." She almost snarled.  
  
"I simply mean that I know for a fact that Miss Parkinson is competent in the art of potions making, and it would be very uncharacteristic of her to produce an ineffective potion."  
  
"So you doubt my potion making skills?" Her anger was increasing rapidly, and he was loving it.  
  
"Something like that Miss Granger." Snape smirked and strode back to his desk. "Begin then." He added after she did not move.  
  
"What about class?" She ought to be in Transfiguration now; Harry and Ron would be wondering where she was.  
  
"Already taken care of. I had a few words with Mr Potter a few moments ago, and explained that you may not be awake, or in the right state of mind to participate in your Transfiguration lesson."  
  
"What do you mean? Not in the right state of mind?" Hermione was torn between anger and curiosity. Why was he uncertain of her state of mind? It wasn't like she had been screaming or anything. At least, she didn't think she had. She hadn't woken up screaming like normal.  
  
"I merely assumed that it would be.difficult facing Professor Lupin after your.dream."  
  
Her blood ran cold. "How do you know what I saw?" She asked quietly. Suddenly, for some reason, she could not quite bring herself to look at him.  
  
"Legilimency" Snape said after a small pause.  
  
"Wha-" Hermione began, but cut off quickly. She remembered what Legilimency was.  
  
"You do know what that is Miss Granger?" Snape said silkily.  
  
"Yes," she said defiantly, regaining her composure. "I did not recall it immediately because Harry only really mentioned Occulemency."  
  
Snape scoffed. "Well of course he did. He is hardly going to remember any information that is not directly about himself."  
  
Hermione's eyes flashed with anger but she kept her mouth shut.  
  
"How long have you been having those kind of dreams?" Snape said.  
  
"They aren't dreams," Hermione muttered shortly and began fetching the ingredients to begin the Dreamless Sleep potion again.  
  
"Then perhaps you could inform me upon what they are then," Snape said quite acidly.  
  
Hermione didn't answer, and instead started slicing up some of the ingredients.  
  
"Did you not hear me Miss Granger, or are you simply refusing to answer?"  
  
Steadying and calming her voice she said, "Or maybe, I do not see the point in answering a question to which you obviously do not wish to hear an answer to."  
  
"And what would give you that impression."  
  
"Perhaps your lack of emotion in your voice, or maybe your bored complexion"  
  
"If I were you, I would watch that tongue of yours Miss Granger. In fact you can serve one hour in detention with me tonight, where you can contemplate all possible means of the phrase 'Silent as the grave'.  
  
Hermione bit her tongue hard, dearly wishing to ask Snape to contemplate all possible means of the phrase 'If you don't have anything good to say, don't say anything all'.  
  
"And if," Snape added, "you find yourself in a position where you are too rude to even answer a simple question, then you can begin practicing for tonight right now."  
  
Hermione shut her eyes tightly and ground her teeth together, hard. She pushed her eyes open, determined not to show her seething anger, and kept her eyes down, appearing to be focused on her potion  
  
*  
  
Hermione had not been planning to speak to Ron and Harry until after Dinner. The Dreamless Sleep potion had taken longer than expected, and by the time she had arrived at lunch Harry and Ron had already left. After lunch consisted of double Ancient Runes, so they did not meet until Dinner, where Hermione said that she would tell them all about Potions later.  
  
So this gave Hermione roughly an hour to think up an excuse for why she might be writhing about on the floor, while everything else was sound asleep.  
  
Just as she was leaving the Great Hall, her mind still blank of possible reasons, she literally bumped into Snape.  
  
"Do have to manners to watch where you are walking please," he bit sourly. "I expect to see you in my classroom in fifteen minutes to serve your detention Miss Granger." He added, after noticing who had walked into him, and then stalked off.  
  
Her detention! For the next fifteen minutes, she was almost looking forward to her detention. It was an honest, brilliant excuse to avoid Harry and Ron. When she arrived at the common room she informed them about her detention, and with an empty promise to talk to them later, headed off towards the dungeons.  
  
*  
  
Hermione's detention was as normal as a detention could be. But it still left Snape feeling somewhat unfulfilled at the end. He didn't know what he had been expecting though. Perhaps a breakdown maybe, where she broke down and confided in.no, he certainly did not want that. What would he have down with a sobbing girl for two hours? He didn't even want to know anything about her seemingly meaningless life. It was just, her dream, or whatever she concluded it.had been very disturbing. It had been so lived and.real. Fortunately for her pride's sake, she had looked pretty normal at first, defiantly not as peaceful as the rest of the sleeping had though. It was not until shortly after the bell had rung that she had started twitching constantly, instead of just occasionally. Just small motions at first, but soon, she was writhing about on the floor, murmuring quiet incoherent sentences. It had shocked him to say the least. And, curious as to what was causing her this pain, he had delved into her mind. He was unsure, reflecting back now, whether he was glad he had or not. Her reluctance to talk about it confirmed his belief that no one else knew. But now, he had brought upon himself this burden. Dumbledore would know what do to. But he was uncertain of whether it was appropriate to bring Dumbledore into the picture in such an early stage. For all he knew, it could have been a one off nightmare.  
  
The way she had spoken about it though, and the way she had looked when she had awoken.as if it were the most normal thing in the world.  
  
He casually wondered if it would be best for the both of them if he simply Obliviated himself. No, he had brought this on himself. If anyone was going to do something.although he had no idea what.it was going to be him. It was now his burden.  
  
Sitting back in his chair he suddenly noticed his bottled, complete Invisibility potion. With the knowledge that he was unlikely to sleep well tonight he swigged down the potion. Tonight was as good as any night to test it out.  
  
Quickly checking himself down, he then strode swiftly out of the dungeons, with the small hope of perhaps catching Potter or his redheaded side kick out of bed. He needed something to lift his gloomy spirits.  
  
*  
  
Picking up the glass of water from her bedside table she padded over to the door of her dormitory, and click the door open.  
  
"Hermione? Is that you?" Lavender yawned.  
  
"Erm.yes, yes it is."  
  
"What are you doing up this late?"  
  
"I'm just going to the toilet." She lied fluently.  
  
Lavender gave a muffled reply and sunk back into the comfort of her bed.  
  
Hermione slipped of the door, down the stairs, and through the portrait hole. She took the first set of stairs to her left this time, heading in the direction of the Charms corridor. She chose an empty classroom at the end of the corridor. The corridor itself led to a dead end, so she doubted any midnight wander would travel in her direction.  
  
Transfiguring a wooden chair into a pillow, Hermione settled herself down on the floor; ready for a rough night ahead of her. 


	2. Sordid Slumbers

Dies Mali  
  
Sordid Slumbers  
  
The sound was back. Still steady and regular, neither soft, nor sharp though, but raspy. Soft. Like a short, repetitive wind. Or even softer maybe.like breath.  
  
She closed her eyes and the second they opened she was immediately confronted by clear image. It was a small, homely cottage. As she stepped inside she could see it was furnished with only a few essential items. She walked into what she presumed was the bedroom, and was immediately faced with a pine, king size bed, with a very old man lying in it.  
  
The old man's long silver beard trailed over the tops of the covers, and reached nearly the end of the bed. He was clad, from what she could see, in a deep purple nightgown, and a matching nightcap sat atop his white hair.  
  
His eyes were closed, and she could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out. A few tears pricked up in her eyes, this man, of all people, certainly did not deserve a death akin to her previous premonitions. She walked hesitantly over to the bed.  
  
He looked older, much older, and wrinkles inhabited more of his face and skin. She could detect no immediate danger as of yet, but she had yet to have a peaceful, pain absent dream.  
  
Nothing seemed to be happening at present, so she took this time to study the room.  
  
Aside from the bed, only a bookshelf, wardrobe, and a large portrait clothed the room. It was simple, although nice. This must be Dumbledore's home. Deep inside, she had known that Dumbledore must have had a home somewhere, yet it still felt odd seeing him like this, away from Hogwarts. She was sure Dumbledore could have made his home more extravagant, but she supposed considering the amount of time he spent at Hogwarts, it would seem meaningless to spend copious amounts of money on a home he rarely abided.  
  
It was during this musing that she suddenly noticed how quiet it had become. Not that it had originally been noisy, far from it; in fact, the only noise had been the soft breathing of Dumbledore.  
  
She swung her gaze down to Dumbledore. For a moment, she stopped breathing herself. She walked stiffly over to the bed, and released a shaky breath. The shade of his skin had reached an even more pallid shade of pale, his lips were an icy blue, and the rise and fall of his chest had ceased.  
  
Slowly and steadily she turned and retreated, although unsure of where to go. By the time she had exited the cottage and perched herself on a bench outside, she felt a little more unsteady. Why was she still here? Shouldn't she have woken by now?  
  
Suddenly she heard voices shouting in the distance. It was night, so it was too dark to see anything, but she could hear the sound of footsteps getting closer and closer. As they got nearer, she began to pick up a few things they were saying.  
  
".surprise attack."  
  
". warn Dumbledore before its too late."  
  
".poison."  
  
Poison?  
  
Did they think someone had poisoned Dumbledore, but he died in his.  
  
The glass.  
  
She hadn't really taken it in earlier, but there had been a single glass sat atop the kitchen table. It hadn't crossed her as unusual then, but.maybe.  
  
She hastily hurried back inside the kitchen. She snatched the glass from the table and inhaled its scent. Poison. A mixture of underslang, bloomwood, and ivy if she wasn't mistaken. A particularly manipulative drink, disguised in the colour of a Dreamless Sleep potion, making it easy for the drinker to simply drink from the wrong glass 'accidentally'.  
  
She hastily placed it back on the table just in time. As merely a second later, the front door crashed down, and an older looking Harry Potter barged in, followed by a small team of Aurors. They rushed into the bedroom, and then there was a thick silence.  
  
It was Harry who pushed his way through the people and into the kitchen first. He gave a sad, resentful sigh and slunk into one of the kitchen chairs, letting his head fall into his hands. Abruptly, his head flew back up, and he properly noticed the glass.  
  
Following Hermione's pattern, he picked it up, smelt it, and then put it back, the same thoughts apparently running through his head.  
  
Both Hermione and Harry jumped suddenly as the handle of the front door shook slightly, lowered, and then the front door was pushed open.  
  
In walked the last person either of them could expect to see. Albus Dumbledore.  
  
Hermione screamed. And Harry, obviously not being able to hear Hermione, simply stared. Then snapping back into motion Harry pulled out his wand, aiming it at Dumbledore's head.  
  
"Who are you?" Harry growled.  
  
Dumbledore looked a little shocked, and slightly confused. "What do you mean, Harry?"  
  
"I mean what I said," he snapped. "Who are you?"  
  
"I am afraid I don't understand, Harry. Please lower your wand, and then you can explain." He gestured to Harry's wand which was only a few inches from his face, "this to me."  
  
"Lower my wand? Do you take me for a complete moron? If you don't tell me who you are now, I'll just have to find out later with a favourite potion of mine."  
  
"Harry, I'm sorry, but I really do not understand the meaning of this."  
  
"You killed him. You fucking killed him. And you actually have the nerve, and the guts, to walk in looking like him." Harry gave a slightly hysterical laugh.  
  
Before Dumbledore, or who ever he was, could reply, one of the other men came out into the kitchen.  
  
"Great Merlin!" And he too whipped out his wand. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
"That's exactly what I want to know," Harry said.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore said calmly, "it's almost eleven o'clock; now, I don't know about you, but I like to be in bed by eleven. I find that less than eight hours sleep can make me incredibly grouchy in the morning. So if you'll excuse me, perhaps we could talk about this tomorrow when we both have a clear head."  
  
"I think my head's clear enough right now; what about you, Jones?" Harry said.  
  
"Feeling pretty level-headed over here too Harry," Jones replied.  
  
Taking in the tension fully now, he caved slightly. "If that's the way you feel, then let me just hang my coat up, and we could have a discussion over some hot chocolate." And Dumbledore pushed past Jones and into his bedroom, where five other Aurors immediately confronted him.  
  
Harry, Jones, and an unnoticed Hermione followed Dumbledore through to the bedroom.  
  
Only, when they got in the bedroom, the scene before them was quite unexpected. Instead of the Aurors crowded round Dumbledore, wands out, everyone was flocking round the bed. Hermione slipped through a small gap to the front, curious as to what the commotion was about.  
  
The first, and most divergent difference was that a bald, smaller, slightly chubby man lay in Dumbledores place.  
  
Harry was pushing his way to the front, demanding to know what was going on.  
  
"It just happened," one woman said.  
  
"He just.changed," another said, somewhat dazed.  
  
"What change- Oh," Harry said, reaching the front of the crowd. "Pettigrew." He hissed.  
  
Five minutes later everyone was sat around the kitchen table clutching mugs of hot chocolate. Hermione's mind was reeling as she stood a few metres from the Aurors, Harry and Dumbledore. From what they were saying, Pettigrew had known about Dumbledore's planned murder. He had drunk a Polyjuice potion, and taken the place of Dumbledore. He had swallowed the poison, and died for Dumbledore.  
  
It sounded, Harry admitted, that Pettigrew had finally repaid the favour he owed Harry for saving his life. Voldemort and his supporters now deemed Dumbledore dead, and they had the advantage of a surprise attack.  
  
Hermione, although generally pleased by this good news, was not entirely content. There was still this nagging feeling that something was wrong. When had she ever had a premonition of someone's death, where he or she had not died? Not that she wasn't grateful for it, but it just wasn't right. Unless.maybe this was just an ordinary dream.  
  
She didn't have premonitions every night, so maybe this was just a normal dream. Yes, just a slightly odd, but normal dream. It was beginning to sound pretty convincing.  
  
She didn't want nor need to listen to what they were now talking about, so, nearly convinced it was just a dream, she wandered back outside into the night.  
  
Once again, she had only sat down on the bench for a few minutes, before she distinguished other sets of footsteps heading in her direction.  
  
Soon, the figure had come close enough for her to achieve a clear image. They were fully clad in black. With some sort of mask on, shielding identity of their face. They crept quietly along the grass, routing round to the side of the house, and positioning themselves just below an open window.  
  
Uneasiness was creeping up on her rapidly, and slipped back inside. She wasn't stupid. The figure outside wasn't sneaking up to deliver a bunch of flowers. It looked like he was out to kill. And she recognized that mask. It was the mask of a Death Eater.  
  
Regrettably, everybody inside was in a loud discussion entertained by Dumbledore, who was causing many uproars of laughter as he described what prank a first year student pulled on Snape.  
  
Hermione was panicking. Dumbledore happened to be seated right in front of the open window. It was apparent that no one had heard the approaching stranger, only she knew of their existence.  
  
Frantically she started shouting, moving objects, anything to try and capture their attention. Unfortunately none of them could see or hear her.  
  
And suddenly a rush of blue light shot through the air, piercing straight into the back of Dumbledore.  
  
Everyone froze. Silently waiting for something truly terrible to happen. But a few moments later, one nothing apparent had occurred, someone finally spoke.  
  
"Does anyone know which curse it was? Harry? Dumbledore?" Jones asked.  
  
" A blue light isn't much to go on Jones, we didn't even hear the curse." Harry sighed. "Do you feel any different?" he added, looking to Dumbledore.  
  
"I'm afraid I cannot say I do." Dumbledore said.  
  
Hermione at the present time was trying to capture their attention again. She had heard the curse.  
  
Sicco Sanguis.  
  
Drain Blood.  
  
She had only rarely come across this curse during her reading, as it was such a torturous way to die, that not many dared use it. You also had to have an immense power to control the use of this curse.  
  
The person cursed would feel no immediate pain, but after thirty minutes or so, a small cut would appear. A small unnoticeable paper cut size slit. But as the person cursed fell asleep, blood would start to seep out. Slowly at first, then gradually increasing. By morning, most blood would have escaped the body. Only enough would be left to allow the person the energy to wake, and discover what had happened to them. An hour later, they would have shrivelled up and died. Very unpleasant.  
  
And if Harry and the Aurors left now, Dumbledore would be dead by sunrise.  
  
But she had no way of contacting them. Anything she did or said, they could not see or hear.  
  
She could pick up objects, but it seemed like anything she did pick up, became invisible to the real world. She had been waving a pen right in front of Harry's face for a good ten minutes before she'd given up hope.  
  
However much she wanted to help, she knew she couldn't.  
  
She had tried, time after time to help people before. Especially when she first began her premonitions. She'd had the naïve idea she could actually prevent the deaths.  
  
.But maybe.maybe this time could be different.she had to help Dumbledore.  
  
She had an idea.  
  
She watched Harry get up and pour himself another cup of hot chocolate, return to the table, and put in on the place mat for a few minutes to cool.  
  
Hoping her plan may work, she then picked up the mug, emptied the contents in the sink, and replaced the mug back to its original place.  
  
Harry, obviously not noticing any of this, reached in the retrieve his mug. Then, without looking, blew gently and took a sip.  
  
In the middle of his sip, he then realised that he didn't actually have any drink to sip.  
  
"Who drank my hot chocolate?" Harry enquired looking around.  
  
"What?" one man asked.  
  
"Who drank my hot chocolate?" Harry repeated. "I just got myself a refill, and now its gone."  
  
"Are you sure you didn't drink it Harry?" the man said, sounding slightly amused.  
  
"I'm sure." Harry's face was growing more and more confused.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore said, "we have more important matters to worry about. Like the curse."  
  
Harry shook his head slightly, as if trying to shake away his thoughts. "Sorry, it's just a little strange." And got up to once again refill his mug.  
  
And once again, the second Harry put his mug down; Hermione picked it up, and repeated her actions.  
  
"Okay. Whoever's draining my mug can you please stop," Harry said, slightly agitated, "it's not funny anymore."  
  
"Er, Harry, none of us are." Jones answered.  
  
"Well, someone has to be doing it. Unless," he said, turning to Dumbledore, "you have enchanted mugs."  
  
Dumbledore shook his head solemnly, "no item of furniture nor cutlery is enchanted in my home. Here, pass me your mug and I'll refill it this time."  
  
Slightly disgruntled Harry handed him the mug. When it was returned to him he placed it on the placemat and watched it intently.  
  
Certain that her presence would be noticed this time; she seized the opportunity and reclaimed the mug.  
  
"My mug!" Harry exclaimed. "Its disappeared!"  
  
"Where has it gone?" Jones cried.  
  
For some reason, everyone turned to look at Dumbledore. "I am at as much of a loss as you are I am afraid."  
  
"Maybe there's a ghost." One of the Aurors said.  
  
"A ghost?" Harry said, with an edge of disbelief.  
  
"Yer. Everyone gets ghosts at some point. My next door neighbour had one last week."  
  
"But don't ghosts normally live in houses for a long period of time?" Harry queried, remembering the Weasley's ghoul in their attic.  
  
"Not always," The Auror countered, "My neighbour only had the ghost in her house for a week. It had been smashing all her cutlery so obviously it had to go."  
  
"What do you mean it had to go? Why would anyone want a ghost to live in their house?" Harry asked, somewhat aghast.  
  
"Sometimes they can be useful-if they're quiet that is," the Auror insisted. " My brother had a poltergeist living in his basement for a good few years. It helped scare away any intruders, and it was brilliant with his kids, he never needed a babysitter."  
  
Hermione walked over to the sink, emptied it, and started filling it with water.  
  
"It is a ghost!" someone yelled, pointing at the sink. "The tap's running all by itself!"  
  
"Merlin, you're right!" someone said just before falling backwards off his chair.  
  
She restored the mug to its original place. Harry peered into it.  
  
"Well, the ghost isn't very smart." He finally said, a little unsteadily.  
  
"Why do you say that Harry?" Dumbledore said, clearly amused by the whole situation.  
  
"Because they've been tipping away all my hot chocolate-which I wanted, and instead giving me water."  
  
"Dumbledore smiled. "Maybe they're simply concerned about your health."  
  
Harry snorted. "Well, the ghost should be able to see I am perfectly fit, and after my day, deserve a hot chocolate."  
  
"Do you think there a good ghost, or a bad one?" Jones whispered.  
  
Dumbledore gave a small laugh. "I have a feeling they're good."  
  
With a short smile Harry turned to Dumbledore, "do you know something we don't?"  
  
"No, of course not Harry."  
  
Harry didn't know why, but Dumbledore seemed to be enjoying this, or at least finding some amusement from it. Especially considering he's just been cursed with.something. They really needed to get to work on that.  
  
"Do you think the ghost has got anything to do with the curse?" Someone questioned suddenly.  
  
Dumbledore became serious. "That's a good idea, it could well do. Although I am at a bit of a loss as to why someone would want to send me a friendly ghost." He chuckled.  
  
"It would explain its sudden presence," Harry added, joining in the conversation.  
  
"I have a feeling it was with us before the curse." Dumbledore said.  
  
"How?" Harry asked.  
  
"I honestly do not know. But when I entered the kitchen for the first time, I could just sense something. I went for a while when I walked into the bedroom, but then I think it joined us. And it's here with us now." Dumbledore gave a small smile, "that's just what I believe though."  
  
"The incredible," one of the Aurors said, "How you can just.feel all of that."  
  
"I don't think it's a ghost," a woman said, who had so far not spoken.  
  
"If it's not a ghost, what do your propose it is Miss Trelawney?" Dumbledore asked gently.  
  
"Camilla, please," she smiled. "Although superstitious, like my mother, I am not as gullible as her. Not everything in this universe has a simple explanation." Noticing everyone was listening keenly, she carried on. "For instance, the 'ghost' could be a time traveller, lost in this dimension. Or a seer, trapped in a vision," she paused, giving Harry a quick glance. "I say we find a way to contact them"  
  
"How do you suggest we do that?" asked Jones.  
  
"Well," Camilla fidgeted a slightly, feeling a little excited, "for each.thing.they are different ways. If you really do believe this is a ghost, then a calling or a board."  
  
"What do you suggest we do Miss Trelawney?" Dumbledore prodded, "you are of course, the expert."  
  
She blushed. "I don't honestly think we are dealing with a ghost here. I believe it's something else. I suggest we reveal the spirit." Her eyes glinted slightly.  
  
Jones gulped quietly. "How.how do we do that?"  
  
Camilla's eyes glinted again, and she gave a small, seemingly malicious smile. "All I need is some chalk, Lavender scented candles, and your cooperation."  
  
"I believe those items can be provided," said Dumbledore. He flicked his wand and Harry's mug became a piece of chalk, and a few of the place mats became candles.  
  
Camilla smiled a grateful nod at Dumbledore and began arranging everything to her suiting.  
  
"We never did anything like this at Hogwarts." Harry murmured to Jones next to him.  
  
"Would you think it wise to trust children with this much power?" Dumbledore interrupted.  
  
Harry eyed Camilla and shuddered a little. "No"  
  
"Very few people can do this type of magic Harry. I hold the utmost respect for her." Dumbledore added quietly.  
  
"Okay." Camilla said brightly, "Let's begin."  
  
Everyone seated themselves back around the table.  
  
"Everyone needs to join hands with the person next them. Now just listen and wait"  
  
Camilla closed her eyes, as if to help her concentrate. No one else shut their eyes though, too determined to see this hidden spirit.  
  
Reveal all those hidden Invisible to the common eye, Bring them forth, expose them, Reveal them to my eye,  
  
Slowly but surely, a soft wind began to creep through the cottage. The candles flicked out. And Hermione felt herself being drawn to the small circle Camilla had sketched into the floorboards. They colours in the room somehow seemed to be fading out. As if the colour was trying to transport itself to Hermione.  
  
Eager to be seen, Hermione stepped inside the circle.  
  
Suddenly, the colour flooded back into the room. The lights still remained off, and it made hardly any difference, but it was still noticed by everyone.  
  
"What happened?" Someone whispered.  
  
Camilla opened her eyes. "The spirit wants to be seen. The spell only works when they don't."  
  
"So what happens now? Will we not be able to see them?" The same person asked.  
  
"We won't be able to see them, no. But the ability of their sight to us, transports to the ability of sound."  
  
"So.we can hear them?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Hermione could avidly see a small cut forming on the top of Dumbledore's thumb. It was only small, and in a place where no one would see. And if they did, it would not appear unusual. She had only noticed because she'd been searching for one. Unsure of how long she would be held here, she started to speak.  
  
"I am not a ghost."  
  
Any whispering that may have been occurring seized immediately. And a very thick silence filled air.  
  
"I am what you would call a seer."  
  
"Tell us about yourself" Camilla said softly, as though scared she would startle who ever it was away.  
  
Hermione remained silent. She couldn't really tell them who she was.  
  
Was it getting quieter, or was she just imagining it. It seemed to be getting darker as well.  
  
Maybe.maybe she was leaving. Maybe she wouldn't be here much longer. Dumbledore had already started dying, so perhaps it was time for her to leave.  
  
"Sicco Sanguis," she blurted out suddenly.  
  
"Pardon?" Camilla asked, her face scrunched up in confusion.  
  
"Maybe it doesn't speak English?" Jones suggested.  
  
"But it spoke English just a second ago," someone whispered back.  
  
Dumbledore who had been very quiet through all of those, suddenly seemed to snap to attention, and in doing so, knocked over one of the candles.  
  
The wind ceased and the lights returned. Everything was normal again.  
  
"Sorry everyone." Dumbledore finally said after a small pause.  
  
"Does anyone remember what she said?" Harry asked in a faintly panicky voice.  
  
"Sicco Sanguis." Dumbledore said gravely.  
  
"What's that?" Jones said, a little calmer than Harry.  
  
"Drain blood," Dumbledore admitted, sounding even more solemn. "It's a rare curse. Used mainly by powerful wizards, against other powerful wizards."  
  
"You don't think.it can't be."  
  
"I do Harry. I think that's exactly what that curse was." Dumbledore held his hand up for inspection. "There are two ways this curse can act, depending on how it was performed."  
  
Hermione's eyebrows knotted together. Two ways? She hadn't ever read that.  
  
"The first way," Dumbledore continued, "Is that a small cut forms, like so," he raised his thumb, "soon after the curse is administered, then slowly all the blood the body posses filters through it, you would be dead by sunrise. The second way is a sudden, abrupt loss of blood from the body. It could happen during one minute or one hour. All that's written is that the curse unfolds in a much shorter amount of time."  
  
Everyone sat around the table was staring at Dumbledore with an aghast, horrified look.  
  
"I think it would be best if you all departed now." Dumbledore said solemnly.  
  
"Why?" Harry stood up rapidly, knocking his chair to the floor.  
  
"I would prefer it if know one was around.in case." Dumbledore trailed off, not needing or wishing to finish the sentence.  
  
"No." Harry said, shaking. "I won't let this happen to you.I can't."  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore proceeded in standing also, "please, just do this for me, I-"  
  
Dumbledore was cut of abruptly. His body suddenly became rigid, and a look of surprise was frozen on his face.  
  
".please.leave." Dumbledore managed to grit out.  
  
Everyone fled. Knowing it was time.  
  
Harry, who had not abandoned the cottage along with the others, took one last look into Dumbledore's desperate eyes. He had never seen him look this helpless. For the sake of Dumbledore's pride, he left.  
  
Dumbledore wheezed in a huge gulp of air, as his lung motion decreased rapidly. Every part of him was frozen solid, except for his eyes, which were moving about frantically, unsure of what would occur next.  
  
He unexpectedly fell backwards. As he fell he shattered the back of his skull of the windowsill.  
  
His blood, it seemed, was being split in two. Half, pouring deftly out of the deep gash in the back of his head. And the other half, slowly drying out.  
  
His eyes rolled round as his vision ceased, so that only the whites of his eyes were showing. Wrinkles were swathing his body at a tremendous rate. So much, his face was nearly buried beneath them.  
  
Next, his hearing disappeared. Not that that mattered much. All he could hear was his own feeble attempts to move, but his immobile body refrained him from doing so. It still felt a little odd though, like a mute button had been pressed, and a thick silence filled the air.  
  
He could see blood now, seeping onto the floor. But suddenly he realised it didn't hurt. In fact, nothing hurt at all anymore. But it should have. It hurt a few minutes ago, but now.it didn't. He couldn't feel anything.  
  
Hermione's mouth was clasped over her mouth, in shock, and also in some scanty idea that this might prevent her from vomiting. She too felt like she couldn't breath, from the sight portrayed in front of her very eyes.  
  
Dumbledore's body suddenly became, if it were possible, even more rigid. As if puppet strings were pulling every vessel in his body up. As if by a swift cut of the strings, Dumbledore's body subsequently relaxed.  
  
Blood still leaked from his skull, but something in the atmosphere had changed. And she knew it was over.  
  
_________________________  
  
Snape froze.  
  
His eyes narrowed and he tried to decipher which direction the screaming was originating from.  
  
He followed his ears up four flights of stairs, always heading towards his right.  
  
When he reached a junction in his path he stopped and listened.  
  
The screaming had ceased. But he was almost certain he could hear the sound of faint whimpering to his left.  
  
The corridor, he remembered, led to a dead end. Which meant that whoever was down there didn't want to be found.  
  
With a swish of his cloak he had stalked off down the charms corridor.  
  
His plan to check all the classrooms down the corridor was abandoned when a high, very unnatural scream doused the air. Starting towards to very last classroom he quickened his pace to almost a run.  
  
Still invisible to the naked eye, Hermione did not see Snape enter.  
  
There were tears flooding down her face, and she was sobbing so much and so harshly, she was on the verge of causing herself to vomit.  
  
She was shivering badly, although the air was not cold.  
  
He watched as she hastily drank her glass of water, then lay back for a few moments breathing shakily.  
  
Snape watched Hermione pick herself up, and stumble her way four flights of stairs to the 7th floor, Gryffindor Common Room.  
  
The entire journey one hand stayed tightly gripped to the banister. Or, her fingers tiptoed along the walls. As though she was blind, and her fumbling hands guided the way for her.  
  
The dark castle was only encouraging Hermione to sleep, and Snape could see her speed slowing as the journey progressed.  
  
When she finally began to climb the last set of stairs, he saw her knee's shake a little and begin to buckle, causing Snape to really wonder how long this had been going on for.  
  
"My dear! What ever have you been up to this time of night?" The fat lady exclaimed when she reached the portrait hole. "Young ladies like you should not be wandering out at these hours!"  
  
Hermione, half asleep, gave a halfhearted muffled reply.  
  
"Password please," the fat lady finally said.  
  
There was a silence, in which Snape expected Hermione to utter the password. But as he looked at her with expectance he noticed she had sunk down to the floor, lying curled in a small heap. Breathing heavily and deeply. And for once, looking peaceful.  
  
Without the password Snape was unable to return her to Gryffindor tower. And so, bent down and gently scooped her into his arms. Carrying her easily back down to his chambers.  
  
____________________  
  
It was more the coldness than the darkness which un-eased her this time.  
  
It was always dark. It neither bothered nor frightened her anymore.  
  
But it was rarely ever this cold.  
  
There was a very gentle wind flouncing the air. And although it was not very strong, it was almost numb with iciness.  
  
In fact, the tear that had just fallen down her face bore an ice drop by the time it reached the floor, and shattered into a million ice crystals.  
  
The only reason she could hear the tear shatter, was due the to complete absence of noise or sound.  
  
Her beating heart sounded like deafening drums. Her breath like a coarse wind infusing the air.  
  
Soon, the darkness began to form shapes. Long shapes. Some thin, and some wide, some short and other so tall she could not see the top.  
  
She felt something brush delicately along the side of her face. She shuddered and spun around. Only to be faced with nothing.  
  
Her eyes wandered the surroundings, attempting to work out the identity of these shapes.  
  
Casually, the wind started to pick up, prompting dark shadows to appear above her.  
  
That continuous sound was back. On this occasion.crunchy.  
  
Snapping of some kind was occurring, and a rustling.of leaves?  
  
The black was prominent, but gradually fading, and greys and whites and browns were introducing themselves.  
  
She felt a familiar brush along her right cheek and whipped her head around. It was a leaf. And as she looked back around, she could now see she was in a wood.  
  
She felt something wet against her head, and looked up to discover the black shadows were only rain clouds. Ready to release its rain upon her.  
  
The sense of someone's presence near by alerted her and she wheeled around.  
  
Someone was making their way through the trees. Their feet crunched the leaves and snapped the twigs as they walked. They too had noticed the black clouds, and hoisted their hood up, but seemed by no means in a hurry to avoid the rain.  
  
The trees were slightly lopsided and awry, tilting and leaning off in alternate directions, looking as if they had been trying to reach the rays of sunlight that made their way through the thick leaves at the very tops of the trees. Twisting and turning in attempts that had not succeeded, as all the trees gave the impression of wilting, as if light had been absent for far too long.  
  
Although the thick leaves and branches managed to shield the sunlight, that did nothing to prevent the rain which began to trickle through the leaves. Slipping and sliding its way along the leaves, and tipping off the end to fall to the ground.  
  
The figure traipsed further closer to her, hood still covering the majority of their face, making recognition impossible. They seated themselves underneath a looming willow tree and stared into the empty air before them, as though expecting something.  
  
The air before them shimmered, and before she could blink a redheaded women filled it.  
  
"Ginny. You came." The person had stood up suddenly at the moment of Ginny's arrival.  
  
"Of course I came. Why wouldn't I?" Ginny enveloped the person in a hug. "It has been far too long Bill, I feel like I haven't seen you in years."  
  
"Only a few months Gin. Nothing to fret about. I wasn't sure whether you would be too tied up to make it, what with all the raids." Bill said.  
  
"I would make time for you," she smiled. "Family's more important."  
  
Bill grinned, " I'm more Important than dying families; I'm flattered."  
  
Ginny hit him playfully, "You know what I mean. I needed to make sure you were all right. It's so hard not being allowed to owl anyone anymore."  
  
"Yer, everyone's finding it increasingly hard. People are becoming more frantic about loved ones. I can only imagine how Mum must be feeling about Charlie. I don't know what he's still doing in Romania. Doesn't he know there's a war on?"  
  
"He knows. He's doing his bit over there," Ginny replied gently, sitting down beneath the tree, motioning for Bill to join her.  
  
"I know. But can't he see, can't he imagine that it's killing mum." Bill ran his fingers through his hair. "I hate going to visit her now. All I can see is this troubled look in her eyes, and I can't make it go away. It hurts, Gin. I want to do something to make it better. But all I can do is answer 'No, sorry I haven't heard from Charlie yet' when she asks if I know how he's doing. God, why is he so selfish!" He stood up abruptly, and lobbed a stick he's been holding at a near by tree, and watched as it snapped into pieces.  
  
He looked back to her, eyes filled with sorrow. "I hate it, I hate this."  
  
"We all do." Ginny replied, relaxing a little. "We've still got Dumbledore though, we should be thankful for that."  
  
"Yes," Bill admitted, "and Harry."  
  
Ginny nodded. "I wonder how he's doing. I mean, how he's really doing."  
  
"Probably how anyone else in his situation would."  
  
Ginny did not reply, but instead studied the bark covering the ground.  
  
"You still care for him don't you."  
  
"Of course I do," she said. "I've never stopped." She looked sadly up at him, "I've just become better at hiding it. I know he never has, nor will ever be interested in me." She paused for a minute. "It just.it hurts sometimes. I don't want it too, but it just does."  
  
"Of course it does Gin. It's like that with anyone you care about. Have you seen Mum recently? I don't suppose you have-"  
  
"That's not my fault." She snapped, cutting him off.  
  
"I know, I know. I'm not going to lecture you on that. You have much more important things to do. But God Gin, you just have to see her. She's so.thin. Her bones stick out everywhere. It's horrible. She bakes and bakes, and the cakes just fill up the house because she's too miserable to eat. I just.I just wish I could wave my wand and make it all better." He flopped back down and lent back on the tree, sighing dejectedly, "but I can't."  
  
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Ginny said, resting her head on his shoulder. "Perhaps we could all put our money together and buy her a portkey to see Charlie."  
  
"It's a nice thought. But you and I both know none of us have the money. With no owls now.well, you know how fast portkeys are going. There simply aren't enough people making them, to supply are needs for them. It's a miracle you got one for today."  
  
"Work." Ginny answered simply.  
  
"Still, even if you are an Auror, they don't have enough just to casually hand them out."  
  
"Harry gave it too me. He said he knew it must be a tough time for all of us, and I deserved a break."  
  
"That's very kind of him."  
  
She smiled grimly, "Yer, sweet."  
  
Bill looked Ginny directly in the eye. "How are you really doing?"  
  
Ginny smiled weakly. "Just the same as everyone else. No better, no wor-"  
  
"Shh." Bill interrupted, pressing his finger to his lips, silencing her.  
  
Ginny sat rigid. Eyes blinking about surveying the forest, though she kept sending curious glances at Bill, hoping for him to somehow tell her what he had heard.  
  
Bill moved carefully to join Ginny at the trunk of the tree, and peered round the side.  
  
Suddenly he snapped back round looking stricken.  
  
His pointed at his left forearm, indicating that there were Death Eaters. Then held up two fingers to inform Ginny of how many.  
  
Ginny tapped her watch and held up her hand, all fingers and thumb outstretched. Five minutes until her portkey could transport them back.  
  
A second ago five minutes would not have seemed enough, but now, it seemed like an eternity.  
  
The two Death Eater were drawing closer, and although there were no paths through the woods, the Death Eaters could easily walk right by them. Although they were not clad in bright colours, they would not be hard to miss.  
  
Ginny almost let out a sigh of relief when the Death Eaters stopped and seated themselves beside an old birch tree a reasonable distance away.  
  
"Oh, you should have seen it," a cold, familiar voice drawled, "it was brilliant, I didn't even have to do anything except watch."  
  
"Are you gonna tell me how it happened then?" A deep voice said, "or simply tell me how 'bloody marvellous' it was?"  
  
"All right, all right," the first one said. "So we'd been killing these muggles, well it was more of a massacre really, there were so many! God, muggles really do bring it on themselves. So anyway, we'd been attacking the muggles when the Aurors showed up. Potter wasn't there, but Weasley was."  
  
Bill shot a questioning look at Ginny. She shook her head. Although she'd attended many scenes like this, the voices, or what she had heard so far sounded familiar.  
  
"Obviously," the cold voice continued, "Weasley couldn't see it was me, but I swear he just knew though."  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"Well, I'd seen a few muggles escape, so deciding there was already enough of us on the scene, I slipped away after them. Weasley, of course, saw me go, and followed after me. I tailed the muggles across the road and lost them in a crowd. It would have been to open to use magic anyway. So I turned around ready to go back when I spotted Weasley crossing the road after me. He was half way across the road, when this bus came from out of nowhere. Ran straight into him!"  
  
Ginny and Bill had both visibly paled. Ron. He was the only Auror in the family beside Ginny.  
  
"Did he die?" the other one asked excitedly.  
  
"Nah. Unfortunately not." The cold voice said.  
  
"Damn. That would've been once less to worry 'bout."  
  
"Well actually we needn't worry about him anymore."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"From what I heard he broke both his legs." He grinned maliciously.  
  
"Really? Ha! They can't keep him in the force with two broken legs!" the deep voice laughed. "What'll happen to him?"  
  
"He'll either be fired, or transferred to another division."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Intelligence?" the cold voice mocked.  
  
The both broke into smothered laughter.  
  
"Weasley," the deeper voice gasped, trying to take in deep breaths because he was laughing so much. "Weasley in intelligence! God, you crack me up, Malfoy."  
  
Malfoy smirked, "every time I think about it, all I can imagine is carrot head in his wheeling chair, wheeling himself arou-" Malfoy broke off, unable to stop himself from laughing any longer. And soon they were both rolling on the ground with laughter, taking it in turns to 'rip the piss' out of Ron.  
  
Bill and Ginny were pallid, frantic and very worried. Was what Malfoy said true? Ginny had not seen Ron recently, but in their work, it was hardly unusual. Bill tapped his wrist, anxious to return home. Ginny understood the message and held up one finger indicating they had one minute remaining.  
  
"What are you two imbeciles laughing about?" a new voice boomed, "well, Malfoy? Regal?"  
  
"Just about Weasley and his broken legs, Owens," the man named Regal said.  
  
Owens neither laughed nor smiled. "Don't tell me that's all you idiots have been giggling about for the past half an hour." The man sneered.  
  
Malfoy turned stony faced. "No Sir."  
  
"Weasley may be damaged, but he's far from broken."  
  
"But that won't be for long will it, sir?" Regal asked.  
  
"No," Owens sighed, "not for long now."  
  
Behind the tree from which they were hiding a grave faced Ginny tapped her watch, and withdrew a hairpin from her pocket.  
  
Counting down the seconds on her hand, they both touched the hairpin and vanished.  
  
The three Death Eaters, who had been oblivious to their presence, carried on their conversation.  
  
"Anyway," Owens continued, "have you got what I asked for Regal?"  
  
Regal produced a small bag from his pocket. "I got it."  
  
"Good, lets get going. Lucius is bound to notice my absence soon." He walked to a nearby tree and picked up a shoelace lying beside the roots. He motioned for Regal to join him, and in seconds they had vanished in the same manner that Bill and Ginny had, leaving Malfoy alone.  
  
"Great. Bloody great." Malfoy muttered to himself. "They slack off to do crack, and I have to walk about five miles through a dark wood, alone. Oh, that's just bloody fantastic," he added, as the mild rain started to increase its downpour.  
  
Hermione was beginning to feel a little bit apprehensive. At first, she had been certain it was going to be Bill. But then Ginny had appeared, and then three Death /eater had arrived on the scene. Two had left, Ginny and Bill safe. Leaving only a scared Malfoy. And so, sighing in defeat, she trudged after him.  
  
A good half an hour later, Hermione, who had been daydreaming, nearly walked straight into Malfoy. For he had suddenly stopped and turned around.  
  
His grey eyes were narrowed in a hawk like way. Trying to see through the darkness.  
  
Suddenly, Hermione heard what must have made Malfoy stop.  
  
A rustling noise, and a small, low growl. She panicked. Was it a werewolf. Or simply a wolf? Or something else?  
  
The creature padded nearer to Malfoy, revealing it to be a wolf.  
  
Malfoy took an involuntary step back.  
  
He snapped his head around in another direction, another noise startling him.  
  
The noise soon identified itself to be another wolf.  
  
And with a sinking feeling in her stomach she remembered that wolves hunted in packs.  
  
Two more wolves became present, all four now circling and surrounding Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy whipped his wand out, swivelling around, thrusting it at each wolf.  
  
"Stupify!" he yelled at one wolf. A jet of light streaked out of his wand at the nearest wolf.  
  
At that instant the remaining three leapt at Malfoy before he had time to react. Attacking him viciously.  
  
"Ahh!" Malfoy cried, water pricking up in his eyes as one wolf sunk its teeth into him arm, while a second began clawing away at his chest.  
  
Another grabbed hold of his ankle with its teeth and started to pull him along on the floor. But with the first wolf's teeth deep in his arm, it did nothing but stretch and strain his arm further.  
  
The wolf that had been stunned earlier was now getting back on its feet, and with a faint 'pop' transformed into a person.  
  
"Owens," gritted Malfoy.  
  
"Some of us have got together, and we've been discussing a few things," Owens smirked mordantly, "and we came to the conclusion that you 'services' are no longer needed."  
  
Malfoy, writhing on the floor, gave an uneasy look.  
  
"Avada Kedavra!"  
  
A green light pierced Malfoys chest. And he was still.  
  
_____________________  
  
Gasping and heaving Hermione shot up, and found a glass of water being handed to her.  
  
After gulping it down she lay back. To overrun and tired to notice that her surroundings had changed.  
  
She faintly heard a deep, strangely familiar voice ask her what the password to Gryffindor tower was. She managed to mumble 'snuffles', before promptly falling asleep.  
  
______________________  
  
"Hermione. Hermione."  
  
Someone was shaking her awake. She rolled over, and in doing so, fell off the couch. A perplexed expression covered her face. How did she get here? She looked up at the person who had woken her.  
  
"Why were you sleeping down here?" Harry asked.  
  
Hermione looked around. It was either very early or very late in the morning, because the rest of the common room lay empty.  
  
"What time is it?" Hermione asked, unintentionally changing the subject.  
  
"Half-past six. Why were you sleeping on the sofa?"  
  
Hermione thought quickly. "I went to the kitchens last night to get some water. I remember sitting down for a moment.I guess I must have fallen asleep," she lied smoothly. Although her brain was thinking frantically of possibilities of how she could have gotten to the sofa, she wasn't sure she even remembered entering the tower.  
  
"What are you doing down here so early?" She realised suddenly that he was also down here very early, and dressed for that matter.  
  
Harry blushed a little. "Oh, I was just going for a walk or something."  
  
"A walk?"  
  
"Yer," Harry said, "it helps me think."  
  
Hermione yawned, "well, I'm going back to bed for a while then. I'll see you at breakfast." She turned and started up the stairs to her dormitory.  
  
"Try not to sleep for too long," Harry called after her. "I think Ron's beginning to have second-breakfast withdrawal symptoms."  
  
Leaving Hermione to trudge up the stairs, collapse on her bed, and wonder just what had happened last night. 


End file.
